


Enough

by lavellanpls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, F/F, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, Rejection, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavellanpls/pseuds/lavellanpls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14614.html?thread=57753878#t57753878">prompt</a>: <i>"Unrequited Love."</i></p><p>She called her a true friend, and her smile killed her. “Friends,” she echoed. Yes. Of course.<br/>That was always her problem—she fell in love too easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

She thought nothing of it, at first.

Lavellan was a storm in bodily form—a natural wonder of sound and fury—but to Cassandra she was first and foremost a _friend_. However rocky their initial meeting, she admired the Inquisitor’s spirit. At times she suspected it was the only thing holding their shaky organization together: a stitch, a wish, and Lilith’s undying commitment to _helping,_ even when it meant herding lost Druffalo across some Maker-forsaken river. It required a patience Cassandra plainly did not possess, and she could only commend it.

It did not escape her notice that sometimes Lavellan’s gazes lingered. She brushed it off at first—Lilith was passionate, charismatic, _blunt_. Poor Cullen still wasn’t used to the congratulatory slaps to the back; the excited shoulder-touches and teasing play punches. Maker help her, the woman offhandedly referred to half her inner circle and a few visiting diplomats as “babe” on a semi-regular basis. That was simply _Lilith_. She had no pretenses; no hesitancy. She was passion and eagerness and fury and affection, and in the middle of a bitter war, an oasis. It was precisely what she found so refreshing about her company.

Cassandra met each flirtatious comment with a smirk and an eye roll. She was unfamiliar with Dalish elves, outside of baseless rumor, but if Lavellan was anything to go by, then they were certainly a candid bunch. Lilith didn’t seem to have much of a filter—there were days Cassandra would walk into the war room and the Inquisitor would look up, eyes widening with the steady growing of a smile, and announce, “You look especially lovely today, Cass. You do something new with your hair?”

Cassandra only ever answered with a terse laugh. If nothing else, at least their Inquisitor had charm. Of some odd variety. Still. There were times they would talk, alone. Discuss books and friends and distant families in low voices at night when no one was calling on them; exchange doubts and share encouraging words that Cassandra would hold close for the days to come. And in those quiet moments, she felt…something. A glowing warmth in the silence between words; a fondness she could not reciprocate.

They spoke of it once. Shortly before the disaster at Haven. Cassandra told her she could offer her friendship, but no more. Explained how she hoped that could be enough. And Lavellan laughed, that delighted echoing laugh that always carried through camp, and assured her, “Your friendship is all I could ever need, Cass.” She hugged her—a foreign gesture to Cassandra, although not an unappreciated one—and added, “That, and your dragon-killing skills. I may require that, also.”

Cassandra only rolled her eyes.

The matter was never visited again, and she almost forgot about it entirely in the never-ending chaos of attempting to restore peace. The Inquisition kept them busy, and the Inquisitor pushed ever onward. They still spoke, in rare quiet hours—of books and friends and Orlesian flower shops—although perhaps not as often as they liked. At some point she noticed Lavellan had taken a special interest in their elven apostate, and the observation eased her heart. Their Herald deserved happiness, and Cassandra often worried she didn’t get enough of it. She considered the Inquisitor a true friend—told her as much, in one of their precious wandering conversations. Cassandra could not be enough for her, but perhaps someone else could. She only hoped as much.

If her growing closeness with Solas wasn’t enough to reassure her, her sudden interest in unholy _matchmaking_ certainly was. She’d deny it when confronted, but Cassandra was reasonably certain Lavellan was trying to set her up with _Varric,_ of all people. _Ugh_. (Although she would admit some amount of gratitude for the book, which Cassandra all but devoured over the course of a few days. Perhaps revealing her penchant for smutty literature actually worked out in her favor.) Nevertheless. She was graciously assured that their friendship was unmarred; her spirits unwounded. “Friends,” Lilith said, and Cassandra smiled, blessedly content.

Friends, always.

* * *

She called her a true friend, and her smile killed her. “Friends,” Lavellan echoed. Yes. Of course.

That was always her problem—she fell in love too easily. With a snorted laugh, a crooked smile, the movement of their hands when they spoke… They could pronounce a word a certain way, a unique intonation, and she’d be done for. Lilith spent her life entangled in a mad love affair with the very concept of _people_. A romantic, she supposed. Of the most hopeless variety.

And maybe she’d fallen for the dragon slaying princess; envisioned herself as some sort of knight-reaver, their earnest protector, warriors side by side. Maybe she’d let herself get caught up in sweet daydreams of black braided hair and high cheekbones; allowed in sneaking thoughts of gloved hands twined together and a bright, burning presence beside her, a beacon of conviction, an anchor to tether her to earth when her ground became shaky. And maybe then she could weave flowers into her braided crown of hair and tell her she would never need to fear again; that she’d fight her demons for her, cut down her enemies, because Lilith couldn’t offer the world but she could offer _that_. She could do that. And in the foggy depths of a dreaming mind maybe that could have been enough.

Lilith was a romantic. This would not be the first time her heart broke, nor the last. And it would hurt next time, too, she was sure. And she’d pick herself back up to stumble into the next doomed love affair to split the earth beneath her, until there was nothing whole left in her to break.

This would not be the first. But damn it, it would still sting like it. That night she retired early to her chambers. A headache, she’d explained. Dumb bodies and their constant need for _sleep,_ right? No one questioned it. A small miracle. Alone, she shut herself in a room not entirely hers and allowed herself to quietly cry into her hands. Even alone, it didn’t feel right to let the light see her face like this—a teary mess, turning blotchy and red like some heartbroken child. The Inquisition did not need this; could not _afford_ this.

A knock echoed through the cavern of her bedroom, and a servant’s muffled voice politely requested her assistance. Lavellan cleared her throat to call out an even, “A moment, please.” She took a deep breath, patted cold fingers to the raw skin of her cheeks, carefully tousled her hair, and stepped inside with a practiced smile that only just missed her eyes. There was work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I went through my first playthrough with the assumption it'd be like the previous games, where you can date anyone, and was crushed when Cassandra was 2straight4me. My beautiful vaguely Eastern European princess. My grumpy queen. _My Xena._ Ah. Now I hope you're crushed too, bye.


End file.
